Always Sharing Things
by Daisy Miller
Summary: This isn’t the kind of problem one deals with on one’s own, nor is it something one deals with only their twin brother. It’s the type of problem one deals with only their mother.[previously titled Which One Is Her Father?]


"Always Sharing Things"

She was a waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, just down the street from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. She had long tan legs; that was the first part of her that Fred noticed. She had accidentally dropped something, just near the table Fred was sitting at. She leaned over to pick whatever it was (Fred wasn't really paying attention) up, consequently causing her skirt to rise. Of course, being the gentleman that he was, he helped her, thus effectively introducing himself and sparking a lovely conversation. This lovely conversation evolved into a proposal for another meeting, most commonly called a date.

This date begun a series of dates, during which their mouths (as well as certain unnameable body parts) were very primitively occupied. It was nothing more than a fling, a small detour in Fred's quest to find a wife (not that he really wanted a wife; he just wanted his mother to stop nagging him). Which is why, when they went their (sort of) separate ways, Fred felt no jealousy to find that his (younger) twin brother, George, had successfully weaseled (no pun intended, I assure you) his way into her . . . well, her _life_. Twins who are often as close as Fred and George have no qualms about sharing certain things (or persons, mind you).

Everything was going along swimmingly; George was dating the waitress (whose name tag proclaimed her to be Fiona) And Fred was . . . _seeing _her . . . every now and again.

And then, neither of them were seeing her, and it seemed she had disappeared. She reappeared a few weeks later, her eyes red and her movements sluggish from days of wallowing in her guilt, self-pity, and sheer disappointment in herself.

It seemed the Weasley twins had been at a party for most of their lives, and now the power had gone out and the host was throwing them out.

For how can you party when you have a girl sobbing into your shoulder that she's pregnant? It doesn't work very well, especially when she quiets down long enough to tell you that she doesn't know who the father is, and that when she does find out who the father is, she plans on marrying him.

This isn't the kind of problems one deals with on one's own, nor is it something one deals with only their twin brother; it's the type of problem one deals with only their mother.

This is why Fred and George had brought their little problem to the front steps of the Burrow.

"Er . . . mother, dearest . . . ." began George.

"We sort of . . . need your help," finished Fred.

Mrs. Weasley eyed the tear-stained cheeks of the young lady standing in between her two sons. "Is she pregnant?" she asked knowingly.

Fred tried his best to look offended. "Now why would you think that?"

"I always thought that if any of my sons ever found themselves with this kind of problem it'd be one of you. So . . . which one of you is it?"

George cleared his throat, suddenly finding that the back of his neck itched terribly. Fred seemed to realize that he was wearing shoes.

Mrs. Weasley clucked her tongue against her teeth, and shook her head. She let them in without a word.

"Always sharing things . . ." she muttered to herself, ushering them into the kitchen. "Well have a seat," she snapped, "while I make you some tea."

She was being curiously calm, thought Fred and George sharing a look. They sat, Fiona in between them. Mrs. Weasley couldn't help but notice the ironic symbolism in the way they sat: Fred and George on either side of her. George and Fred were so close to each other; nothing could come between them. This girl, this young teary-eyed girl, was between them. Obviously she didn't mind being shared. "Now which one of you is it?"

Judging by the lack of answer, Molly could safely assume that the girl wasn't sure which twin was the father. She kept her movements steady and slow, exhibiting a certain calmness she normally never felt the need to exhibit. This was dangerous waters, and she felt she should tread lightly, if only for the girl's sake.

"Why don't you tell me how you met," she said, sitting the pot on the stove. She gave her wand a little wave, casting a heating charm.

"Well," began Fred, "you see George and I met when we were . . . ."

"At the Leaky cauldron," interrupted Fiona. "I was the waitress."

Molly nodded her head, pouring a cup of tea for the girl. She still didn't know her name. "Fred, George, why don't you two go de-gnome the garden? And then after that, you can go clean out the attic, and maybe give the ghoul some company; he's been mighty lonely since you two moved out."

Not wanting to make any movements which would suddenly cause the Molly-bomb to go off, they readily assented, both gripping their wands firmly in their hands.

"Er, without your wands," she clarified, as they walked into the backyard.

Mrs. Weasley handed the cup of tea to the girl, as she sat down across from her. "Now, what's your name?"

"Fiona Flemming," she answered, sipping the tea. It taste of lemons, curiously reminding her of George. "I didn't mean for this to happen," continued Fiona. "I didn't really want it to happen. I mean, your sons are wonderful, but . . . ." She let her words trail off, feeling familiar knot in her throat.

Mrs. Weasley placed her hand over Fiona's. "It's alright dear. I suppose you plan on marrying the father?"

She nodded. "I mean, I can't force him, whichever twin it turns out to be."

"And when can you find out?"

"In about three months, or so the doctor told me."

"And you're sure it's one of the twins?"

Fiona felt she should be offended by what Mrs. Weasley was implying, but as she thought about, the woman had no reason not to imply what she was implying. "Yes. I haven't been with anyone since George . . . well other than Fred."

"Yes, well, I suppose you should stay with the twins for the time being. If you'd like we can get their brothers to help you move."

"Why can't Fred and George help me move?" she asked, not wanting to impose on anyone.

"Fred and George?" she asked incredulously. "Help you move? By themselves? Good heavens, no! I'm assuming you'd like to keep your possessions in one piece!"

And thus, the next morning, the help of Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and Bill Weasley (who was on holiday at the time) arrived at Fiona Flemming's flat and successfully maneuvered her belongings into the twin's flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, just down the street.

Three months passed without incident, unless you count the minute breakdown Fiona had when she realized her pants no longer fit her. This was quickly solved by a handy expansion spell to let out the waist of her jeans a little.

When one is dreading a certain point in the near future, the near future turns into the past future, and before Fred and George fully began to understand just exactly what they had gotten themselves into, they were sitting in a waiting room.

Their mother was beside them, knitting calmly. Her jumbled mess of yarn vaguely resembled a miniature sweater.

"Mum?" said George suddenly, his leg jiggling nervously. "Why are you so calm? Even these passed three months, you haven't yelled at us once."

Mrs. Weasley kept her attention on her knitting. "Trust me dear. My yelling would never add up to the yelling you'll be hearing in a few months . . . ."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mrs. Weasley never got a chance to give him her very clever reply, because Fiona walked out of the room, wringing her hands nervously. Fred and George stood up, both wiping their sweaty hands on their pants.

Fiona smiled wanly, and never being the type to draw things out longer then need be, she said, "It's George."

"_George_?" exclaimed Fred."It can't be George!"

George looked offended. "Why not?"

"Because I found her first!" he yelled, turning to his brother and jabbing his finger into his chest.

George pushed Fred away, yelling back, "Well it's not who found her first, it's who found her last!"

Fred said a very nasty word which made Fiona gasp and Mrs. Weasley hit him in the head.

"You . . ." began Fred, struggling to find his words, as well as the reason he was mad. It must be because he had found her first, thus feeling a certain attachment to her. He felt like it was his duty or some such nonsense. "You . . . You don't care about her!" he finished pathetically.

"And how would you know?" spat George. "It's not like you know everything where I'm concerned. We may be twins, but we can't read each other's minds you know!"

Fred was in the right mind to give him a sucker punch; he even got around to rasing his arm and making a fist. But this was _George_! You can't hit _George_! George was . . . _George_. Fred settled on walking out of the room for the time being.

He did some thinking, decided he really didn't want to be stuck with a pregnant woman (he remembered when his mother had been pregnant with Ron and Ginny; needless to say, both nine month periods did not turn out to be pleasant experiences). In this refreshed state of mind he returned to their flat, apologized profusely for getting so upset, wished them the best of luck and moved out.

-

_My yelling would never add up to the yelling you'll be hearing in a few months . . . ._

Those words echoed in George's mind, exactly seven months later, as he gripped her hand (actually Fiona was doing the gripping; George was just loaning his hand to her). Her face was red and gleaming with a light curtain of sweat, as her mouth contorted in pain (but not before yelling out a few choice words which shall not be repeated).

The sound of a baby crying came next, and to George it never fully went away. Day and night the voice of sweet Rachael Weasley screamed through his ears, and he wondered how his father had put up with it. He wondered how Fiona could put up with it.

Truth be told, she hardly knew how she did it herself, and she even ventured to question Mrs. Weasley on the subject.

"Silencing charm," said Molly. "Shut the poor dear in a room at night and put a selective silencing charm on the door. That way you'll be able to hear if she needs you, but you won't hear any of that needless crying. It'll help her learn how to get to sleep on her own. I learned that one with Charlie; poor Bill still has trouble getting to sleep on his own. Do you know, I sat beside him at night until he was . . . ." Mrs. Weasley rattled on for a few more minutes, until she noticed that her audience was looking a little tired, and not to mention a little thin.

She quickly stood up, insisting that they head home immediately. George and Fiona found Rachael in the backyard, playing a game with Uncle Fred. The game consisted of Rachael pulling on Uncle Fred's hair, while Uncle Fred tried (unsuccessfully) to get her to stop. This delighted the young child greatly, often causing her to tumble over in a fit of giggles.

George and Fiona collected their child from a grateful Fred and got ready to floo. The last image of the family that Mrs. Weasley caught was an image of perfect happiness: a laughing child with bright red hair, a smiling mother with a love in her eyes, and a father who was the spitting image of his father and his father's father.

The last thing Mrs. Weasley saw was her son, a grown man, an accomplished man . . . . She saw a son she was proud of.

Yes, she thought, now all I have to do is find a wife for Fred, Charlie, Bill . . . and Ron, (in a few years of course) . . . .

FIN


End file.
